Article from "Letters From the Nest," May 17, 2024
Last Sunday, we celebrated Mother’s Day. I empathize with the spectrum of feelings that people feel regarding their experience with being mothered or mothering. For some, it’s a treasured opportunity to joyfully reminisce. For others, it’s a reminder of devastating loss. Still, others feel indifference or bitterness that they would rather not think about. Often, expectations are high, and disappointments abound. Any time an event or phrase elicits such varied reactions, it’s a clue that emotions run deep and varied.
I have known many of these varied Mother’s Day emotions. Two of my past Mother’s Days are associated with the physical and emotional pain of miscarriages. One of them, I was recovering from surgery and could not lift our bulky busy toddler. I was on my own at church and did NOT want to be there, but I went anyway so that our little family could be in a good place with good people. Two other Mother’s Days were celebrated with newborn baby boys. I stayed home from church and “rested.” Many other Mothers’ Days are blurred in my memory--sticky kisses, snotty hugs, crayon-colored cards with backward letters, meals made by my loyal and loving spouse, and blissfully undisturbed naps. Every year I say, “Please don’t fight. It’s Mother’s Day.”
Parenting is not for the faint of heart. It’s a fact that cannot be truly understood without experience. The more I experience, the more I think about the women that made me--my mother, grandmothers, great grandmothers. Just as I know I’m not always content and happy, I know they also had awful moments where the pain or frustration came out in tears, harsh words, or crippling doubt. I also know beneath it all were love, strength, endurance, fortitude, and probably some secret pieces of chocolate hidden in a pocket or drawer for a time of self-rewarding solace.
I didn’t sit down to write this essay about mothers, but that seems to be what is coming out. What I did want to write about was something I learned from my mom just last week. Well, one of the things. I’m always learning from the good people I associate with, and my mom is one of those good people.
Mom was sick last week. Sick enough to end up in the hospital. Sick enough that she should not be alone. With my dad’s passing last fall, she didn’t have her trusty partner to care for her, but she did have friends, neighbors, and family who each had an extra opportunity to spend some time with her.
When Mom was released from the hospital she was very weak. Care tasks that we all take for granted became nearly impossible chores. While your dad took over the work of running things at our house, I traveled across the country to spend a week mothering my mother.
The first day or so, I hovered around her like an eager lady-in-waiting, trying to anticipate and meet her every need. As her strength slowly returned, she grew more independent, though I still stayed nearby, listening for a hint of anything amiss. By the third or fourth day, she was performing her daily ablutions independently once again.
As I washed dishes, did laundry, fetched medicine, and prepared meals, I thought about the rich, life-sustaining work of mothering. Very little of this work is glamorous. It doesn’t require much aside from physical mobility. But if it were only physical work, it wouldn’t carry with it those deep and varied emotions we all feel on Mother’s Day.
A few weeks ago, my noble sisters-in-law and I had a conversation about how people feel the Spirit. Sometimes it’s in spiritual settings, but for me, most of the time, it’s not. I think when people feel something, anything, whether it’s anger, disappointment, joy, love, frustration, fear, or any emotion you could name, the feeling is associated with a particular meaning. You can love somebody or something, but the word “love” changes based on the meaning you or others associate with it. What you fear, treasure, or believe is all based on meaning. If you’re confused by how you’re feeling about a situation or person, think, “What does it mean to me?” You might understand your feelings better.
After dinner one night, my mom turned off the news, and said, “I’m going to begin my evening ablutions.”
I asked, “How can I assist you with your oblations?”
We’re funny people, my mom and I. Sometimes I use weird words or phrases to describe things, and I’m almost positive I got it from her.
She didn’t need a whole lot of assistance that evening, so I thought about the words, ablutions and oblations. Are they the same word? Was one of us pronouncing it wrong, or misunderstanding the definitions? Do you know?
I didn’t, so I looked them up.
Ablutions: The washing of one’s body. Usually plural. Quote: After all, bathrooms are far more than just places for morning ablutions and a spot to do your business in. —Jermaine Gallacher, Vogue, 1 Aug. 2023
Oblations: Gifts offered in worship or devotion. Quote: "But remember that on this, the Lord's day, thou shalt offer thine oblations and thy sacraments unto the Most High." —Doctrine and Covenants 59:12
Who was using the right word? Mom was. But I was kind of right.
Both can be routine. Both can be overlooked by those for which there isn’t meaning. Both are care tasks. Both are good. When somebody is weak, they may need help with both. Mothers are intimately involved in helping children learn both.
The week I spent with my mom was filled with physical, mundane, ordinary tasks. Infused in these tasks was a spirituality that I don’t always feel about housework. The work became an offering: a way to honor, lift, and serve, a way to show my love and appreciation. The ablutions were oblations. Cool, huh? I thought so.
The next time you find yourself mired in the everyday work of living life, think about the meaning. Think about what you’re offering. It will uncover the luster and depth you might not have easily seen, and maybe you will find greater purpose and peace in an activity that would normally be ordinary. And who doesn’t need more luster in their life?
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